The Web
by Etymologist
Summary: Organized crime defines the city. Fear and allegiances define the people. A fragile balance of power once preserved a fragile semblance of peace, but an unknown power is beginning to disturb the web and threatens upheaval. It tests both the strength of the thread, and the people wrapped up in it. Old families are stirring, and a conflict of interest is inevitable. Mafia!Hetalia


A/N: I've been inactive for a while, and because of my busy schedule, it's hard for me to see updating this very often, probably not more often than once a week. This is just an experiment; I'll continue if it seems like people want to read more of it. This chapter only includes a fraction of the characters I'm planning on writing about. The story I'm thinking about has all Allies, Axis Powers, and a majority of the other characters. Relatively complex, if this continues, it won't be very short. T for language and violence, amongst other things. Main parings Rusame, usuk, among others.

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><p>Ivan Braginsky felt rather lonely as he studied his chessboard. He was, of course, figuratively surrounded by his numerous subordinates, all willing to cut their own throats and tongues at his word- but it was a futile presence. He was a single spider waiting in his web, surrounded by wriggling flies and gnats, all hoping that their obnoxious buzzing and obvious vulnerability was pleasing to him.<p>

The chessboard was only half-filled, and downed chessmen were scattered across the polished mahogany of his desk.

_Not a spider_... he thought to himself, giving himself the luxury of extending his rather thoughtful analogy. He disliked spiders. _Perhaps a... sunflower. Surrounded by disgusting bees, who all believe they are doing him favors._ Ivan chuckled to himself at his creativity and finally placed one marble knight forward.

_All a sunflower really needs is the sun_, the young man mused as he lifted himself out of his large chair with the weary movements of an old veteran. "And I am my own sun..." he said softly to himself. He walked around his desk and sat in the empty chair facing the one he had previously sat in. He contemplated his next move against himself, as well as all of his enemies' imminent moves, as well as his people's possible responses.

_And even I am plotting against myself_, Ivan smiled widely. He settled into his chair. _I should shoot myself. No rest for the wicked, da? Which does remind me..._

Ivan sacrificed a rook to save his queen, and pressed a button on the underside of his desk. Soon there was a hesitant knock on the door.

"You called, sir?" came the muffled voice through the heavy wood.

"Ah, yes, Toris, please do come in."

A brown-haired hair cautiously poked though, and at Ivan's steady stare the rest of the body soon followed. "What seems to be the problem, sir?" Mr. Braginsky almost never called him without also requesting his two other brothers.

"Sit down, please," Ivan said pleasantly, smiling at the young man only several years his junior. Toris glanced nervously at the only seat available, the large, luxurious, red-velvet throne behind the desk. He gestured at the more modest seat Ivan was currently occupying, and stammered, "S-Sir, are you sure you wouldn't-"

"I said, _sit down_... please," Ivan's threateningly calm voice scared Toris more than the trophy balanced on the edge of the desk. At first glance, it seemed like a mannequin hand, the kind vain women used to organize their rings- indeed, almost every finger had at least two rings resting on it, some delicate gold filigree, but most of them heavy, ornate silver or cast iron. Only upon closer inspection- an unlucky opportunity which Toris commonly had as the trusted cleaner of Braginsky's office- could one see that the hand was real, cut off from the previous leader of the Russian family's half-dead body and stuffed. The rings were amassed from Ivan's various cleaning sprees, the rings of the head of the different families that had had the unlucky fortune of becoming Ivan's enemies.

"Toris? Please sit before I help you find your seat." Toris was pulled out of his thoughts and quickly found his way and gingerly sat down. It was warm.

"Do you know why we are here?" Ivan asked casually, much too casually, so casually that his silky innocuous voice left trails of fire crackling up Toris' back.

"Eh..." Toris swallowed, but found his throat suddenly very, very dry.

"I am feeling lonely," Ivan laughed, "Come play chess with me. I have already set up the game, it is your move."

Toris felt nauseous with suspicious relief; nevertheless, he studied the board. He saw a weakness immediately and quickly captured Mr. Braginsky's rook. "Y-Your turn, sir..."

"Why, yes, it is." After a moment's deliberation, Ivan used his queen to capture the knight that had taken his rook and said, "Checkmate."

"O-Oh! You are very clever, s-sir-"

"I sacrificed my rook because I saw an opportunity, yes, Toris?"

"Yes..." Toris didn't see where his boss was going with this but it was nowhere good.

"You sacrificed your knight, but it was rather pointless, yes, Toris? There was no meaning to your move. What was the problem?"

"I... I supposed I didn't think very-"

"_Yes!_" Toris jumped and Ivan stood up. "You were not thinking, were you, Toris?"

"S-Sir?!-"

"You were not thinking, you were thoughtless of my sacrifices, of your sacrifices, of the _entire plan!-_" Ivan swept a large arm across the desk and the entire game went flying across the room and smashed into the wall. Toris vainly tried to disappear into the plush of the chair he was sitting in.

"Mr. Braginsky, I'm sorry, I don't know what I did-"

"Yes, you do. You would try and _betray_ me-" Ivan reached out and grasped Toris' collar, pulling him closer to his fury, "You would upset all of my best-laid plans, you would have me dead, would you not?" With a mighty pull that seemed effortless, Ivan dragged Toris across the desk and threw him to the ground. Holding back tears Toris threw up his arms as a useless shield.

"Please, please-!"

"Don't dare deny it, Иуда." Ivan used one large boot to pin Toris' to the floor.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Mr. Braginsky, please, have mercy-" tears fell shamefully now.

"You would sell your boss, your benefactor, your _family_ to those filthy American _politsiya_... What did they offer you, friend? Wealth? Information? _Protection?_" Ivan spat and pulled out the large revolver hidden in his coat. He loaded it and pointed it at Toris' head. "You should have known that as soon as you went to that American _pig_ Alfred Jones I would have had every bullet in the family your name carved into it."

"Please, please-" Toris sobbed and Ivan cocked his gun.

"Please, what? Let you live? You are better off dead, no better than the scum you betrayed your family to. Алты́нного во́ра ве́шают, а полти́нного че́ствуют. You should have never come back the moment the thought of betrayal entered your head. You should have run to Jones, let him whisper pretty words of money and security in your ear as he fucked you and let your allegiance bleed onto the bed sheets. Toris," Ivan's fury twisted into a cruel smile, "the only spies in my family are the ones who spy for me." He regarded Toris' tear-stained face and pleas for a heartbeat more before he pulled the trigger.

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><p>Im Yong Soo felt so comfortable, and blissful... He was on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, but he knew that life was oh-so short, and the bed was still warm. The dream of his favorite older brother cuddling with him as he watched his favorite Korean drama still lingered in hazy memory. He rolled himself tighter into the covers, when he felt his pillow vibrating. There was the most annoying buzzing he had heard in his life, and he groaned. Please not now. Please not now. Please not-<p>

"Fine," he grumbled, reaching for his phone and checking what was so important.

It was a text message.

"Damn it-" Yong Soo stumbled out of bed, and clad in only his pajama bottoms ran down the stairs, out of the complex, onto his motorcycle, and disobeying all conceivable traffic laws rushed down to the old pharmacy.

"_Oppa?! Oppa?! Yao!_" Yong Soo burst through the doors and confronted a startled Yao Wang.

"What is it, little brother?" he asked, delicate eyebrows drawn in by the younger man's expression.

"I-It's-" Gasping for breath, Yong Soo held out his phone to the elder. Yao read it quickly, and all colour bled away from his face.

_Toris is found out. He's coming for us._

Yao looked up and he realized his expression now mirrored the one on Yong Soo's face.

"It's begun."

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><p>Иуда- Judas<p>

_Politsiya_- Police

Алты́нного во́ра ве́шают, а полти́нного че́ствуют- Little thieves are hanged, but great ones escape. A Russian saying. More or less translates to: smaller crimes are suspicious.

Reviews appreciated. I apologize for any language mistakes, feel free to correct me.


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